


Domina Pact

by Laura_Laplace



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Sex, Succubi & Incubi, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Laplace/pseuds/Laura_Laplace
Summary: A woman's bedroom fantasies begin to act on their own...
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, succubus x human woman
Kudos: 52





	Domina Pact

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's an original work of mine from a few years back, re-uploaded here to show what I can do. If you like what you see, check out my card in my profile, see what other mischief you can get up to. Enjoy!

What happens when the people in your fantasies act on their own?

She had typed the same sentence too many times to count over the past few days, and as with all the others, this time she quickly deleted the words, shaking her head dismissively. How would one even go about asking that question? And who would respond?

It wasn’t as though there were a lot of people talking about the issue; her searching online had turned up nothing at all, as if she were the only person on Earth experiencing this. And what an experience it was!

She had no shame about it; at night she would turn the lights low, strip out of her clothes and close her eyes, letting her fingers wander over expanses of soft, pale skin, always ending up between her legs. It was a pleasant enough way to end the day, subsumed in sensual daydreams as she stroked herself to orgasm, and it was during this very routine that she first felt it.

She had wanted a man. Though perfectly able to find her pleasure in women, that day, a week ago, she had desired a masculine presence; strong muscles, a hard cock pressed against her, stubble scraping against her inner thighs…

… But that wasn’t what she had gotten.

Closing her eyes that night, she had begun conjuring a man, but what had walked out of her imagination had been a woman, all swinging hips and tall, lithe grace. Her eyes had refused to open, staying closed as though holding onto the fantasy, this mystery woman who stood before her and pulled her desires astray. The figment even seemed to smile when she tried, teeth like fangs glinting with pure danger.

She had wanted a man, and had gotten a woman, but that had not been the only way her plans had been deviated from that night. She had slipped into her bed dreaming of gentle love, of quiet orgasms filled with blushing heat and small, near imperceptible shudders. Instead, she had found herself… used. Taken and forced and ground beneath the heel of the mystery woman, all the while unable to just open her eyes… or to stop herself from coming.

Oh yes, her fingers hadn’t stopped working the entire time, driven on by some impulse beyond her understanding and, in the end, simple addiction to the sensations she produced. Absorbed into the most devious, sexual traps she could provide, left locked in her own head with a woman who knew her every weakness and was more than willing to exploit them, she brought herself to orgasm more times than she could count. She came. Teeth gritted, she came. Her inner self kneeling and subjugated, she came.

Bound and hurt to the point of tears, she came.

By the time it had ended, when her eyes had opened and her prurient hands had come back under her own control, the sheets beneath her had been soaked, sticky with her own perplexing arousal. She had sported a blush that had remained for hours at a time, furious and hot and nearly full-body, replete with a well earned sweat. Trembling, she had made her way to the bathroom to shower away… whatever had just happened.

The next night, she learned that this was to become her new routine.

Largely experimentally, she had slipped back into her bed that next day, and closed her eyes. Her fingers had begun to move almost immediately, unbuttoning her pants with impatient speed, working on automatic as they plunged below the waistband of her panties to the sound of clacking heels, growing steadily closer in her imagination.

The same woman smirked out from the dark of her mind.

From there, things had progressed much as they had the first time; the cruel figment of her imagination had stripped her and loomed over her, taunting in a voice like black silk and making her do the most degrading things… and all the while her fingers stroked herself to orgasm again and again.

It happened the next night too. And the night after that. And every night this week.

She couldn’t escape it. The woman in her mind had become the new master of her imagination, always lurking, ready to spring out from behind every unconnected thought. Whenever she returned home, the figment was waiting for her, ready to turn her nights into a sexual haze, filled with throbbing pleasure and, by the end, the ache of a body well used. She was, in every respect, the captive of her dreams, possessed of this strange secret that had her doubting her sanity at every turn, unable to tell anyone.

What would they think? What would she even say?

Please help, my imagination keeps taking sexual advantage of me!

Instead, she had turned to the internet for answers during the twilight hour before unseen pressures compelled her to her bedroom, where the phantasmal woman awaited her. But even there, her anonymity assured, she hesitated to type the words, as though actually presenting the thought to the world would confirm something sick about herself. It felt… wrong, and so she deleted the words and closed her laptop.

All that was left was the figment, demanding her presence in the bedroom.

Treacherously, she felt a trickle of wetness between her legs, thighs clasped tightly together at the very thought. Perhaps that was why she was reluctant to tell others of what was happening to her; perhaps she liked it too much, and feared that it might stop should she be compelled to get help?

She would go to the bedroom, she knew; her place on the bed, beneath the heel of her conceptual conqueror, held a sort of personal gravity, dragging her inexorably downward into the next humiliation. But such things could always be delayed, of course they could; there was so very much to be done, after all. What if she wanted to go clean herself up before descending into that maddening hall of pleasure once more?

Yes, that was it. She needed a shower first. That’s what she would do.

She walked down the hall on light, hesitant feet, peering into every corner and shadow, an odd sense of guilt pervading her, as though she was standing up a lover who could discover her escaping at any moment. As though there was something to fear in disappointing a woman who existed only within the confines of her mind.

She almost giggled at the notion, if it wasn’t so very plausible in the moment.

Turning the taps as high as they could go, she stood in the slowly warming bathroom, surrounded by cream coloured tiling, suffused by the warm light of a fading bulb. This was safe, this was comfortable…

… The woman wouldn’t find her here.

Stepping out of her clothes, she felt a sudden sensation of eyes at her back, strong enough to compel her to whirl around, discovering nothing but her own pale, frightened face looking back at her from the mirror. Her hands felt out for the rim of the counter, and she stared herself full in the eye, the corners of her mouth turning down; this was ridiculous. She was better than this, better than cowering at the contents of her own mind. There was nothing to fear, not really.

There couldn’t be…

Steam had begun billowing out over the top of the shower curtain, as good a signal as any to get in. Stepping under the water, she lifted her face to the stream, allowing the heat to hit her full on, blasting away the paranoia and nervousness that had pervaded her entire day up to this point. She had broken the cycle, stepped away from the routine that had come to define her week, if only in a small and momentary way. She would return to it in time, placing herself willingly back in the figment’s waiting arms, but for now, her life was her own, her choices under her own control.

The water caressed her body, clinging to the peaks of her breasts, running down the curves of her hips, and even this became strangely sensual in the shadow of the figment, the waiting pleasure to come. Once she was done here, she would return to the bedroom, to debase herself for the figment’s amusement; she could already feel the desire for it building in the back of her mind, unbidden and, in some respects, unwanted. She would go, and so there were parts of her- many of them between her legs- intent on recontextualizing even this act of defiance as something sexual, a kind of preparation for what was to come.

She wasn’t merely taking a shower, she was making her body presentable for the figment…

‘Nothing unusual here,’ She said, under her breath, the words barely perceptible even to herself over the sound of running water. Nevertheless, defiance edged her words, ‘Just taking a shower for nobody in particular…’

It was then that she heard it; heels, clacking against cream tiles.

She tensed immediately, ears reaching out for the sound, but it had faded before she could properly apprehend it. It could barely have been said to exist at all, potentially something akin to an auditory hallucination than a legitimate sound, but it was still enough to put a hostile slant on events. She realized, possibly for the first time, precisely how vulnerable a position she had put herself in; alone, naked, backed into a corner and surrounded by slick surfaces, with her sight blocked by curtains and walls, and her hearing dulled by the constant pound of the shower spray. Good thing…

Good thing there was nobody else in here, then.

But the sound resounded off of the walls regardless, loud enough this time to make her jump, squeaking with shock. This time she pulled back the shower curtain, eyes wide and heart pounding, fully expecting to see a figure in the room beyond, yet being met with nothing but steam and bathroom fixtures. Her reflection stared back at her through an inverse, mirror-world bathroom with its own steam fog, wide eyed and dishevelled, dripping water. Slowly, she watched herself relax.

Closing the curtain again, she took a moment to close her eyes and breathe deeply, to steady herself in the face of what were clearly hallucinations. Merely the stresses of a week on this perverse routine taking its toll on her nerves, making her jumpy and strained at every unexpected sound. She had to be hearing the house settling, the sounds turned relevant and threatening when refracted through the prism of her paranoia.

She had almost convinced herself of that by the time she opened her eyes, and saw a reflection that wasn’t her own staring back at her through the glass panel ahead of her. The figment smiled.

‘You’re standing me up,’ The reflection looked down her nose, her image knobbed and warped by the tiled texture of the glass, but immediately recognizable as the woman who had spent the week… It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘That’s not smart.’

Screaming, she flailed backward, jamming the hot tap into her back, the pain dulled and inconsequential next to the shock that rippled through her. The reflection stepped forward, pulling itself out of the two-dimensional space inch by inch, the glass offering resistance, as if attempting to suck her back in. Nevertheless, the figment advanced, accruing reality moment by moment, dark eyes levelled ahead, exuding confidence.

‘I like my human girls wet, though. That’s thoughtful of you,’ The figment said, her voice a low sensual hum. ‘Never done this in a shower before… are you sure there’s enough room?’

Under normal circumstances it would have been ill-advised, but faced with a very real creature from her imagination, standing face to face, their breasts actually touching in the close quarters of the shower, panic made her both flighty and reckless. She threw herself through the shower curtain, feet skidding on the wet floor in her desperation to escape what was surely a clear sign of an ensuing mental breakdown. A laugh sounded from behind her as she cleared the bathroom door and made it out into the hallway, the plastic purr of the curtain parting as she took her first thudding steps forward, nude and dripping, crimson hair trailing behind her as she ran…

… The bathroom door clicked closed as her feet left the ground, a heavy weight encircling her waist as it hefted her up, effortlessly.

‘Oh, you want to do it in the bedroom? I’m game,’ The figment’s voice was suddenly behind her and below her, as the thing lifting her into the air elevated her above head height. The soft, wet pressure of a tongue started at the small of her back and moved, lapping up a rivulet of water as it ran down her skin. She shivered, and the figment continued, ‘Do let me lead the way.’

Stepping ahead of her, the figment finally afforded her a view of what had happened; the woman herself was naked too, making it easy to see the tentacle extending from her back to ensnare her prey, forcing her to follow behind the figment as she languidly headed for the bedroom, hips swaying in a way that, in another context, could be described as “luscious.”

Entering the room and conscientiously closing the door behind her, the figment deposited her prey onto the ground, the dark, pulsing tentacle adding an insistent downward pressure that forced the girl to her knees, almost bending double under the weight of it. Looking down at her, the intruder smiled.

‘There now, isn’t that better?’ The figment crooned, running one hand through her captive’s hair, fingers subsumed in the fiery red therein. Looking up, she regarded the creature truly for the first time, cataloguing as many distinct features as she could. What she saw was not human; though it took the shape of a beautiful woman, devoid of clothes, there were features on her that could not belong to a person.

Her skin, most obviously, was the lightest shade of blue, the colour almost imperceptible but certainly there. At her limbs it became darker, her arms from the elbows down the crushed velvet blue of a midnight sky, as were her legs up to the middle of the thigh. Like naturally occurring gloves and stockings, she thought, the idea almost making her giggle, only the lingering pressure of the tentacle around her waist reminding her of the gravity of her situation.

Oh yes, there were tentacles too, four of them that she could see, extending from the figment’s back; thick strands of muscle clad in the same deep, dark blue, their length allowing them to stretch to the far corners of the room, their tapered tips idly exploring, as if independent of their mistress’ whims.

And then there were the horns.

They curved around the contour of her head, rising to the surface of her deep black hair like ancient serpents rising from the sea. Like polished bones of purest ebony, they glinted in the light, the tips wickedly sharp but, ultimately, worthless as a form of weaponry; they terminated almost at the back of her head.

Even so, they gave a particular hint as to the nature of the creature before her.

‘Who are you?’ She asked of her captor in a tremulous voice, near breathlessly as the tentacle around her midriff squeezed, making it hard to draw a full breath. She felt herself shaking, head to toe, in the presence of an entity that radiated a strange kind of pressure, an aura of alien oddity, as though her very being stung at the forces of reality, made the world draw back from her infinitesimally.

‘Mmm, names are a difficult concept, my dear,’ The figment tapped its chin with a finger, and her captive could see the claws that tipped her nails. Eyes like midnight stared down at her, like tunnels into the sky, ‘True names are powerful things, for Succubi like me. They confer altogether too much control to those that hear them for me to just give mine out heedlessly, no matter how much I’m attracted to you.’

‘Fake names are good, though. Just call me Crona,’ She knelt beside the trapped woman then, running one of those claws down the terrified girl’s cheek. Biting her lip, Crona leaned in, putting her face beside her captive’s, blowing a stream of cool air into her ear, ‘I know your true name though, Taylor…’

She said another word then, breathed it so that it hung in the air, a little glowing glyph in deep, forest green, the lines of it waving and curling in on themselves. Taylor didn’t recognize the language, but the meaning of the word punched through her like a comet, known so deep in her being that the moment of hearing it stretched on into an eternity, endless time for her to comprehend the word, understand every inch of it, every pulsing node and thread of its history. The word became her, stamped over her soul.

Despite her bondage, Taylor’s body arched back, a shiver racing up her spine, embedding itself all the way through her. Her skin screamed with sensation, reaching out to every minute contact, the air against her, the carpet beneath her, her own hair as it brushed her back. Every muscle she had clenched.

In an instant, with the hearing of the word, Taylor went from zero to orgasm in a sixth of a second, body gripped with pleasure. Ecstasy ripped into her, tore out every cogent thought, left only Crona’s singular syllable lingering on her clit. Her pussy pulsed with it, wet walls closing on nothing, as her nipples hardened and her mouth opened in a wordless, mindless moan, a sound like pure sexuality. There was no stimulation, no fantasies, or fetishes, or kinks; Crona had just purred into her ear and turned her on, like flipping a switch. But there was no satisfaction to be found in it either, in this false climax, just a heightening of arousal that had been steadily building as her date with the figment, previously presumed to be merely another masturbation session, drew closer. Now her need spiked, her desire skyrocketed as her body shuddered and twitched through its empty orgasm.

She came down shaking, unexpectedly in Crona’s arms, the creature sighing with deep, full-body contentedness, as though drawing something truly edifying from her captive’s weird pleasure. When she let Taylor go, there was a distinct note of reluctance in her, that faded quickly as she got to her feet in a manner she had denied to Taylor herself, still pinned low by the unnatural strength of the binding tentacle.

‘Aren’t true names interesting?’ Crona stretched, lithe body moving like a marble sculpture come to life, though Taylor was unable to truly appreciate this, possessed as she was by echoes of what had just happened to her, aftershocks of pleasure that only made her want more. ‘The intention one has when they speak one very much determines the effect… and I’m sure you can tell from what happened to you how much I want you. Since I always get what I want, here we are. Now then…’

Her tentacles moved with purpose now, wrapping around Taylor’s arms and the insides of her knees, holding her still despite her growing need to struggle. Her arms were held straight out behind her back, pinioned there by a pair of tentacles working over one another in a complex network of overlapping strands, seemingly solely for Crona’s amusement alone. Escape would be impossible, though it didn’t stop Taylor from trying, muscles straining against the far greater strength of the Succubus; every inch of progress toward freedom she gained was quickly reversed by the dextrous lengths, heretofore unknown loops reaching out to grasp at her and pull her back into line. There were no weak points along the length of them, no place where the muscles ceased or thinned, no joints or bones to strike out at. Just pure, supernatural strength, penning her in.

Taylor’s knees were pulled apart as she knelt by yet more tentacles, spread nearly as wide as they could go by the unyielding pressure of Crona’s appendages, leaving the most delicate, sensitive parts of her exposed and vulnerable. The tentacle about her waist finally released her, but at the moment, that was no comfort.

Crona herself loomed above her, staring down with undisguised prurient interest, and Taylor found herself flinching away from the attention. Of course, if the being in her fantasies had always been Crona, her own independent entity, then she had clearly been spending a lot of time admiring Taylor’s body in the past, but that had always been from within the safe confines of her imagination. But now the Succubus was here in person, in the flesh, her deep, black eyes filled with the simplest of desires and levelled right at Taylor; the experience was totally different.

Within her mind, nothing overly harmful could have happened to Taylor. Out here in the real world, the situation was quite different.

‘W-what do you-?’ Taylor began to speak, her voice a nervous, stammering wreck, but she was quickly interrupted by a tentacle worming its way between her lips, sliding a ways over her tongue before stopping, filling her mouth. She groaned wordlessly in complaint, but could do little else.

‘No, no, I don’t need you to speak, girl,’ Crona said in a voice like honey. ‘I already know everything I need to about you. I’ve had a good week or so of hanging around in your head, seeing your ins and outs, prying into your deepest desires. It has been fun, but it’s time for me to move on.’

All four of Crona’s tentacles were engaged keeping Taylor pinned, and despite all that had happened, the human girl was still surprised to see a fifth peek out from behind the Succubus, between her legs and out, to sway in the air in front of Taylor’s face. As she watched, the tip developed a seam, splitting open in a disturbingly organic way, revealing a blue, wiggling tongue at its core. She gasped, and Crona smirked.

‘I’m nice, though. Don’t worry about that, pet,’ The Succubus purred, starlight eyes gleaming danger. ‘I’ll even give you a chance to give me what I want, after I’ve toyed with you for a while…’

The slowness with which the new tentacle moved was taunting, deliberate, serving to highlight just how powerless Taylor was. She had seen them move with lightning speed tonight, certainly fast enough to restrain her with ease; there was no need for it to go so painfully slow, but to remind Taylor that tonight she was the plaything of something far greater, much more so than she had ever been all the other nights.

It worked. As the tentacle trailed its leisurely way down, growing closer and closer, nearing her vulnerable body, Taylor whimpered and tried to back away, knowing not what its intentions were. There was nowhere to go, of course, with her lovingly bound body held perfectly in place, but fear did not bow to facts, and the primal instinct of survival at her core screamed for her to escape this utterly alien creature before it was too late.

She watched as, with unerring accuracy, the tongue-tipped tentacle slipped down between her legs and, with its very first contact on her body, touched itself to her clit. The thing was all point, and it flicked against her sensitive bud, applying itself more fully there, broad and flat as it licked across her singing nerves. Despite herself, defying the racing of her heart, Taylor moaned all too readily; her pussy had been drenched from the moment the Succubus had whispered her true name to her, and now it hungered for the stimulation the tentacle could provide.

Ashamed at how quickly she gave in to it, the echoes of need resounding through her slight frame, Taylor moved her hips, pressing down against the tongue. It responded in turn, twirling around her needy bud before slipping, for a scant few tantalizing moments, inside her, rapidly dripping with her juices. It retracted fast, the sudden emptiness causing Taylor to gasp, then growl at the lack of the sensation that the tongue had caused.

Pushing herself down, she tried to recapture it, but the nimble tentacle pulled away, actually dodging her, before darting back in to lash at her clit once more, and Taylor twitched with each tingling touch, unable to do more than feel the rippling pleasure that went through her like a shockwave. But each lick was only a second or two at a stretch, enough to make her want more, but not enough to get her any closer to satisfaction.

As the seconds ticked by into minutes, Taylor looked up, pleading silently with Crona with her eyes, wanting more but too embarrassed to ask, to name the arousal she was feeling, even if she could do so around the tentacle lodged in her mouth. One glance at the confident concentration on Crona’s face told her everything she needed to know: the Succubus was doing this deliberately.

Crona slowly ground her hips against the surface of the tongued tentacle where it had slipped between her legs, the movement seemingly instinctual as she toyed with Taylor, running the tip of the tongue up and down the woman’s swollen lips, teasing yet never slipping inside. She shivered in time with her own licking, each motion of her hips corresponding with another moan ripped from Taylor’s throat by the slick little muscle as it ran the length of her pussy. There was true excitement in the Succubus, real, primal gratification at seeing her human captive squirm.

And squirm she did. Taylor didn’t know how much time had passed since the intruder had begun edging her, but however much it was, it was too long. Each moment, bound by tentacles and licked just to the edge of orgasm without being allowed to fall over the precipice was like an eternity imprisoned in her own needy flesh, unable to escape the unfaltering sex impulses fed to her by the Succubus’ expert ministrations. Crona’s knowledge of Taylor’s body was truly supernatural, knowing the precise moment before climax finally took her, pulling away just as the tingling rush of it began to wash through her hips, leaving it to fade into disappointment.

It didn’t take long at all for her to break down under such pressure, whimpering more or less constantly around the tentacle in her mouth, the sound helpless and pathetic. A bright red flush coloured her face and was beginning to inch down the pale skin of her chest. Her cunt dripped freely, coating her thighs and the intrusive tentacle down below with her sticky arousal, the juices spread around as it continued its tireless assault. Breathing in harsh, shuddering breaths, Taylor felt her eyes blur with tears, the culmination of the alien, erotic stresses she had been put under finally spilling out; captured by a Succubus, shown that her own mind was subject to external forces more than willing to make her their plaything, and then robbed even of the ability to care about all of that in the face of persistent sexual denial, Taylor’s tears tracked down her cheeks, and still, all she wanted was to come.

Crona eyed the girl with a mercurial gaze, her true feelings impossible to read behind her studiously arranged features, like a beautiful sapphire mask. She walked, in long, languid steps, around Taylor to her bed, the same bed that she had forced its owner to degrade herself over and over, bound in mental chains, until it had become second nature. Her tentacles tensed as she did, dragging Taylor around, effortlessly, so that she was always facing the Succubus, still writhing in agonized pleasure as the tongue never ceased its work. Delicately, she perched herself on the end of the bed and took the human’s chin in her hand, raising her head with a gentle pressure that Taylor was too addled to deny.

‘I’ve been keeping you on edge for an hour now,’ Crona tilted her head, and for a moment pure, near demonic delight at the suffering in front of her was visible on her features, hinting at the ancient, boundlessly strange nature of the non-human creature. ‘And I can of course keep it up for as long as I desire. Do keep that in mind as I tell you this: make a pact with me, pet.’

The tentacle slid out of Taylor’s mouth then, leaving her to splutter in its absence for a moment before regaining her cool. She could feel a peculiar slickness on her tongue now that the tentacle was gone, and some of it had trickled down her chin when the thing had withdrawn, but with her arms still pinioned she had no way of wiping it off; instead she merely wondered what the substance was and, considering the inhuman nature of the creature who had delivered it to her, what effect it was having on her.

She certainly didn’t get this aroused, this easily…

But Crona was still regarding her, expectant, waiting for an answer to a question Taylor didn’t fully understand. She suspected, her mind reeling through everything she knew about the legends of Succubi, desperately searching for some piece of information to hook onto, that this vagueness was intentional, a way to manipulate her; she resolved not to fall for it.

‘A p-pact with a demon,’ She said, adding notes of challenge to her voice that were undercut both by the tremble in it, and the warning tentacle that wrapped around her throat, squeezing until there was more fear in her voice than defiance. Still, she managed to choke out, as Crona’s inscrutable gaze went right through her, ‘Doesn’t sound too smart.’

‘I am not a demon,’ Crona demurred, her face impassive. ‘I am a Succubus, and I beg to differ: making a pact with me will provide you heights of pleasure you can’t even imagine, pet.’

‘No… nnngh!’ Taylor shook her head, but her words were ripped from her as the tongue once again lashed her clit, somewhat punitively. Yet again she was given no more than the lightest touch, just enough to make her body react, needy flesh wanting more with no hope of getting it.

Crona sighed, ‘Very well. I don’t intend to leave without a pact, little girl. Not after spending so much time reading your fantasies. I know what you want, pet, and I can make you want what the pact can bring. So! Change of tack, I suppose.’

And with that, the Succubus disappeared over the rim of the bed, falling onto her back with her legs hanging over the edge. Without any apparent effort, the tentacles binding Taylor lifted her into the air, the bonds around her knees aligning the woman so that she was held sideways, parallel to the floor. Forced to bend at the knees, the tentacles at her arms extended further, trussing her by further binding her feet to her arm knots. Hog tied yet still struggling fruitlessly, Taylor was dragged up until she hovered over Crona’s recumbent body, those midnight eyes staring up at her, practically glowing with the assuredness of her dominance.

‘I will make you mine, pet. You will make a pact with me,’ Inhuman energies glinted like constellations in the Succubus’ eyes, impossible to assign an emotion to. For the first time, Taylor truly believed that it was within the power of this creature to make her agree, the endless depths of those eyes, once they had fully committed to a challenge, offering a glimpse at the true extent of the world beyond Taylor’s understanding. There was nothing human in Crona, little that was recognizable, no way to gauge her… Just a mystery incarnate, a being with strength and power the likes of which Taylor could not hope to fight against. If anyone could make her submit, it was this creature with azure skin, this woman-shaped force of dominance.

‘I am a Succubus, pet. Wild magic incarnate, the sex impulse made flesh. You will not deny me… let me show you.’

With exquisite control, the tentacles lowered just enough for Crona to crane her neck and cover Taylor’s mouth with her own, her tongue forcing its way into the human woman’s mouth. Taylor squealed at the intrusion, but quickly lapsed into silence; the Succubus’ mouth tasted like nothing she had ever experienced for, but almost immediately she longed for more, the strange sweetness winding through her, filling her mouth as the creature binding her probed as far back as she could. When she disengaged, Taylor found herself arching forward to recapture Crona’s mouth instinctively, though the tentacles ensured that she would fail.

‘Got you…’ There was a singsong lilt in the Succubus’ voice as she laid back against the sheets, body long and graceful and curving. She licked her lips, and Taylor’s eyes widened with desire, her heart racing, wanting nothing more than to lick them too. One hand trailed up, dark clawed fingers trailing up Taylor’s skin, the trussed woman twitching at the contact, until she stopped, and laid her palm flat against the human’s stomach.

When she smiled, Taylor could see the sharp, glittering points of a set of fangs.

More tentacles spiralled up Crona’s arm, issuing from behind her shoulder, racing up the bridge between their mistress and their prey and scattering when they finally reached her. Taylor found herself engulfed, tentacles moving up and down her naked form even as those that had already been there wrapped tighter, keeping her secure under the new onslaught.

One encircled her neck like a collar, the tip coming to rest right below her bottom lip, swishing lightly back and forth. Crona glared up at her, those fangs still on full display.

‘Now be a good little girl and suck me,’ The Succubus’ voice was liquid silk, and Taylor obediently opened her mouth, the tentacle’s tapered tip sliding between her lips. She could feel its smooth surface sliding along the skin of her neck as it moved deeper, stopping just before it hit the back of her throat. Knowing what was expected of her, Taylor sealed her lips around the tentacle’s shaft and, bobbing her head, took it the rest of the way, gagging on the tip of it. Tongue fluttering along the underside of the slick and twitching shaft, she was rewarded with a throaty moan from the creature below her, and a flexing of the other tentacles around her as Crona writhed in apparent pleasure.

‘Someone’s had practice… and I already know exactly how much, of course,’ She said, head tipped back as Taylor whimpered, her throat clenching around the tentacle as it moved. When she spoke again, it was at the tail end of a moan, ‘Well, obedient pets get rewarded…’

Some of the tentacles had slipped down the length of her body as she sucked at the one in her mouth, inching across her skin, and as Crona spoke one of them tensed at its tip, plunged itself deep into Taylor’s needy, dripping pussy, her spread thighs spasming at the suddenness of it all. Two more curled around her breasts, spiralling up from the base and squeezing all the way, blood rushing to the pink caps of her nipples just in time for the suckling ends to clamp over them, a pair of tongues swiping over the sensitive buds even as the rest of their length constricted, lifting her breasts up toward them. The third tongue-tipped tentacle worked likewise, returning to its work at her clit, so that Taylor found herself fucked and licked all at once, pleasure washing over her from multiple fronts at once.

She tried to scream, the sound stoppered by the tentacle in her mouth taking her throat, rendering the shrill sound into a gag, a wet choking as Crona shivered in pleasure at the feeling of her captive’s throat clenching around her. The other tentacles plunged on, fucking and licking and sucking, yet more probing and tickling every inch of Taylor’s bound form, causing the girl to squirm and writhe against her bonds and the caressing tentacles, her hips rolling to take as much of the ones fucking her as possible.

There was nothing else for it; she abandoned herself to the Succubus, to the pleasure of their sex, the helpless, shameful ecstasy of submitting to what was a superior being. Spreading her legs as wide as her bonds would allow, Taylor focused her energy on what she could control, fellating the tentacle in front of her, her tongue fluttering against the underside of its tip before it pushed to the back of her mouth. She still hadn’t come, still needed an orgasm, a need that had already been deep and nagging even before the Succubus had kissed her and made it so much worse. That kiss still echoed through her, lingered on Taylor’s lips, traced its way right down to her clit, making her pussy buzz with pure, unadulterated want.

There had been magic in that kiss, she knew, and in the face of it there was nothing to be done but surrender to that arcane sexuality.

Taylor felt herself near that precipice, growing closer and closer as her body became a writhing gangbang for tentacles, a Bacchanalian mass of twitching, pleasure-giving flesh. Her eyes widened, worry gnawing at her that, once again, Crona would deny her, withdrawing her tentacles at the last moment and leaving her wet and quivering, forced to service the tentacle in her mouth with no reward for herself.

‘You want it?’ Instead, Crona spoke, as her tentacles stoked the fire in Taylor’s loins to near unbearable heights, watching and feeling the girl tremble with barely suppressed climax. ‘You want to come for me, pet?’

There was only one possible answer, and Taylor nodded furiously, groaning the affirmative even gagged as she was, honesty vibrating in every molecule of her body. As she did, the tentacles redoubled their efforts, undulating as they plunged deep inside her at both ends, sucking harder at her nipples and laying a single, continuous lick to her clit.

Just a moment more, and she would come…

Suddenly, before Taylor could properly parse what was happening, the tentacles binding her ankles slipped away, releasing her to the tender embrace of gravity. Her bottom half descended rapidly, the tentacles knotted around her arms shifting as she fell so that she ended her fall upright, her knees hitting the bed at either side of Crona’s head. The motion must have been delightfully choreographed, because the Succubus waited not a moment before her own tongue replaced the tentacles that had been fucking her, lapping eagerly, hungrily at Taylor’s swollen cunt, finally bringing her over the edge and into orgasm.

She gasped, squealed around the tentacle still in her mouth, and Crona did likewise from below. Taylor’s pussy clenched down on the Succubus’ tongue as it slid inside, lapping at a sensitive spot that Taylor didn’t even know she had, her hips bucking as waves of pleasure crashed against the shores of her hips. At the same time, Crona moaned, long and hard, the vibrations ticking at Taylor’s petalled lips, and her tentacle retracted partway, the tip resting against the human’s tongue. It twitched, pulsed in Taylor’s mouth, and a spurt of warm, sweet liquid shot from it, the spasm repeating as her mouth filled with the creature’s strange orgasm, her come sticky as it pooled on Taylor’s tongue. She swallowed…

She swallowed it down, and…

All thought was erased, all hope of maintaining control evaporated, as her body lit up with pure, perfect, blazing sex impulses. In a single moment Taylor’s orgasm stretched from her hips to the far corners of her being, filling her up from head to toe. The bed sheets beneath her sent pleasure spiralling up her knees and calves, the tentacles, where they lay, were tiny localized climaxes on her skin, even the air felt rapturous as she moved against it.

Every muscle in her tensed so hard that they ached, as orgasm slammed through her body and she submissively swallowed every drop that filled her mouth, her tongue moving to lap it up. She came down slowly, nerves still arcing pleasure, insistent that Taylor be made to feel every seemingly endless wave of it, washing up and down her bedraggled, sensitive form.

Crona, for her part, licked and licked, tasting Taylor’s copious juices with obvious relish, tongue-fucking the girl until her senses returned to her and she whimpered in sudden oversensitivity, her clit aching at the rough scrape of the Succubus’ tongue on it. Taylor could feel the smirk on Crona’s face as she relaxed, laying her head back down on the bed, as her tentacles began to move once more.

‘There now…’ The Succubus rolled to one side, and her tentacles hefted the girl aloft and placed her, gently, on her back beside her. ‘You see what I can do? Make a pact with me, pet… be mine…’

There was a slithering chaos of motion all around her, as tentacles disengaged and moved, rearranging Taylor’s tired limbs to better suit Crona’s plans. Her arms were loosed from behind her back and drawn up, one at a time, above her head, where they were moored to her headboard by tentacles wrapping around the blackened metal, before going on to wrap around her wrists. Her ankles once again found themselves encircled, her legs spread wide as Crona moved up so that they could be face to face as tentacles began inching their way back into the space between Taylor’s legs.

Obviously, the Succubus had a thing for bondage.

Taylor could only watch, over the slopes and inclines of her body, as three thin tentacles twined together on their way toward her pussy. The shaft that resulted was thick and somewhat imposing, but by now she dripped freely down the cheeks of her ass, and it slid into her well-fucked hole with a minimum of resistance. But as the tentacles kept pushing, their girth only expanding the more of it she took, Taylor began to squirm, her cunt stretching to take the invasive length.

‘P-please…’ She stammered, finally free of the tentacle in her mouth, which had settled around her neck instead. The syrupy sweet taste of its come still lingered on her tongue, seeming to fizz as Taylor drew in air to speak. Ultimately though, she didn’t know what she was pleading for; any will she had to resist had been left behind somewhere between being edged for an hour and sucking off a tentacle… was she just begging for more? For mercy from a being who had her so completely in the palm of one blue-tinted hand?

… For the pact?

‘You’ll become mine, body and soul…’ Crona purred, pausing for a moment for Taylor to grunt as another few inches of tentacle pushed into her. Clawed fingers tracked across the prone woman’s chest, from one breast to another, pricking her skin along the way, ‘And in return, you get this every day. You get a body capable of handling everything I have to give you, can you imagine it?’

The Succubus’ horned head bobbed, her tongue sweeping around one tight, sensitive nipple, causing Taylor to arch her back, pushing herself into Crona’s mouth, feeling the sharpness of her fangs against her skin. They closed around her nipple, tugging upward before releasing, causing Taylor’s breast to bounce, and the girl herself to moan.

‘Can you imagine that what I’m doing to you now is me holding back?’

Taylor could, she so could, and her mind raced to fill in the gaps, the results making her blush even harder than she had been, unconsciously grinding against the tentacles that had finally bottomed out, filling her so completely that it ached to move too far, the good kind of ache that made a body long for more. Like masturbating on a bruise.

‘Contract with me…’ The tentacle encircling her throat drew back, allowing its mistress’ mouth to travel along the line of Taylor’s neck, nipping with her teeth where she could find purchase. ‘All you have to do is say yes, speak the words…’

Taylor was losing ground fast, her mind unwilling to even consider being without these feelings in future. If she denied her, would Crona give up and leave? Or would she, as she had hinted at earlier, continue to toy with her until she gave up and made the pact?

Which one of those would be worse?

‘I… Oh, god…’ She began to say it, but trailed off as the tentacles all tightened or moved, rewarding her for her willingness. Crona smiled encouragingly, licked her way up Taylor’s throat to plant another intoxicating kiss on her lips. It strung something deep inside her, touched sexual places inside her very soul, and as the Succubus pulled away, even as Taylor realized there was magic in that kiss that was altering her mind, her body screamed for more.

‘Yes, that’s it, pet,’ Crona crooned. ‘Just a little more. Just tell me what I want to hear and I’ll give you something really good…’

Naked, vulnerable, spread open and used in every way possible by the probing limbs of the woman beside her, Taylor surrendered to the promise, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth to say the words.

‘I… mmm… I’ll ma-ake a pact with y-you,’ She said, tremulously, gasping at the end as the tentacles seemed to shiver inside her, finally fulfilled at hearing what Crona had wanted to hear all along. Fangs glittered in the curve of the Succubus grin.

‘Ah, there’s a good girl,’ A clawed finger fell to prick at the hollow of Taylor’s throat as the Succubus purred, seemingly drawing blood; instead of pain, however, there was but a strange tickle, racing to ring her neck before fading. Whatever had happened apparently delighted Crona, who planted a vibrant kiss on Taylor’s lips before pulling back and flexing her tentacles.

Suddenly, the tentacles that had entwined in order to stretch Taylor’s pussy began to separate, the dextrous tips unwinding to push out, pressing against increasingly sensitive spots within her with supernatural accuracy. She felt the warm, spurting pressure of the Succubus’ come from multiple sources at once, so much of it that it spilled out of her, slicking her thighs as the tentacle trunk fucked her hard and fast, bringing her over the edge into orgasm for the second time with ease.

And then, Crona whispered Taylor’s true name again, and the world blossomed into pure ecstasy.

She shuddered through it all, barely even aware of the Succubus watching her, lost in sensations deeper and more intense than anything Taylor could produce in her normal, dreadfully mundane sex life. If the pact she had just made meant experiencing these feelings again, and if refusing it meant losing this forever, then it had been a choice well made. She would never have forgiven herself, if she had felt her very soul have an orgasm, only to reject the chance to have it again.

She came down slowly, drifting back into her body from the infinite plane of sexual pleasure she had been occupying just moments ago, to discover the Succubus standing beside the bed, looking over her. The distance between them was somehow disappointing, for reasons Taylor couldn’t quite name.

‘The pact is made,’ Crona intoned, taking a moment to breathe deeply as her tentacles retracted, sliding back into her form and leaving Taylor free and unbound for the first time since the two of them had met. Stretching languorously, the Succubus grinned, ‘Thank you for that.’

‘So what happens now?’ There was a definite sense of apprehension in Taylor as she asked this, appropriately for a person who had just entered into an agreement with no understanding of the rules and upper bounds thereof. This wasn’t helped by Crona’s confused expression in response.

‘Why, whatever I like, pet,’ She said, laying one hand on Taylor’s breast, over her heart. ‘You’ve been given my mark, which will have certain benefits to you that you’ll no doubt discover over time. You belong to me now, I can compel your obedience when I wish, and I will be coming back to collect that obedience periodically.’

‘Coming back?’ Taylor asked, her limbs shaking so much she doubted they would support her if she tried to move. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘Oh yes, pet,’ The Succubus said, a tad mournfully. ‘I cannot persist in the human world for so long, I need to return home. But I’ll be back, and you had best be ready for me when I do. In the meantime, something to remember me by…’

In a whisper vibrating with lust, she spoke Taylor’s true name again, and watched the girl’s attention be swept away to some other place, some idyllic land within the essence of her being. Crona was more than familiar with that place; she was almost jealous of the human that was now hers. True names didn’t work when you spoke your own.

When Taylor came to, she was alone. Crickets chirped outside her window, an unwelcome intrusion of real life now that the supernatural had abandoned her. Her body was flushed with sweat, thighs and chin slick with the Succubus’ fluids, pangs of orgasm echoing through her still, fading by the moment until they disappeared entirely. And she was left alone, bereft, slammed back into normalcy with no means of chasing what she had lost.

But Crona had promised she would come back…

Unsteadily, Taylor stood, feeling a strange dissociation tug at the back of her mind, a sensation that she didn’t fully belong to herself anymore. She headed back toward the bathroom, to the shower she had abandoned half finished; pragmatically, her body was hot and sticky, needing cleaning, but a tiny, perverse part of her pointed out that it would be good to keep herself presentable in case Crona came back tonight, so…

The mirror caught her attention as she passed, still glossed in a sheen of condensation, and Taylor stopped to gaze into it at a woman changed, all the paranoia and self doubt leached out of her, replaced with a kind of thrumming satiation, a full body relaxation that had left her heavy-lidded and breathing deep. Something else had changed in her, something she couldn’t quite place, but she knew that Crona had the answer. All that mattered was waiting for her to show up. And she would return.

Taylor knew this, because around her neck there lay a mark, a complex, interweaving network of tattooed lines in the shape of tentacles that, and Taylor lifted her hair to check this, ringed her neck all the way around, printed onto her skin. A collar, a mark of ownership, daubed indelibly at her throat, the source of a leash that could be tightened whenever her owner wished.

Crona’s mark, painted on her pet’s body in the same light blue shade of the Succubus’ skin.


End file.
